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How do you fill the silences between the ticks of time?
Whither fled your strength and your ascending spirit?
Whither fled your laughter and your superior condescension?
Where now stands your scaffoldings of knowledge,
Those limbs of light and truth whereon you climbed,
Wherein you played?
All are now pulled down by the truth,
Your lean possessions of your soul shrunk to fill a little box:
And all your senses, your delights,
Turned pale and leached of taste,
Paled to a scentless draught
That rusts your heart to a mere foolish ticking clock.

You are the stricken,
Dying the true death,
Shrouded in your long black veil of lies,
Wrapped in your loss:
Silent you wait,
Clouded by the tears of your true spirit
Torn by the wind,
Ragged with soiled mist:
Where you are wounded
There is no healing,
Where you decay
Nothing is sound,
Ravaged by the false dark,
Abandoned by your own self,
Silent you wait,
Shadows of gray:
Old in your broken
Houses of flesh and spirit,
Old among ruined
Pillars of stars,
Old as the halls
To which you descend,
Old as your deception
That does not end.

Elixirs fade
And potions fail,
The gold is rusted from your grail,
The wine is changed
To water thin,
The blood is wasted
From the skin,
And all that from
The glass is drunk
May leave you only
Smaller shrunk.

Shall there be no alternative?
Neither recourse nor choice?

The choice is to fall into the sleep of madness
Or follow that which is truly within…
The truth of the universe,
Your primordial energy,
Your true dark angel awaits,
Open the door to your mind…
Come on in.